


Trigger

by SydAce



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Demon, Gen, Hell, PTSD, Panic Attack, mental health, trigger - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 21:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20160037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydAce/pseuds/SydAce
Summary: You realize that Crowley has certain triggers related to his PTSD.





	Trigger

Four-lettered words were a bit of a trigger for Crowley, especially when they were to describe him. There would be a flash of emptiness in his face that would morph to fear. He would then attempt to cover up that fear with anger. The first time you saw him go through this emotional rollercoaster was when you were hanging out in Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Crowley had either topped of Aziraphale’s glass of wine or handed him a book. Aziraphale then let it slip how kind it was of Crowley to do that for him. Crowley snatched the glass of wine out of Aziraphale’s hand and threw it. By some miracle, it landed with none of its contents spilling nor it actually shattering on impact. Crowley went off how he wasn’t a four-letter word.

It took a bit before you started to piece together why he went through such a sudden shift in emotions. He was displaying signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. The zoning out could have been a flashback or his brain shutting off completely. Him lashing out was completely normal. There were also times where he’d have nightmares. It seems the poor demon couldn’t escape his past in his waking moments or his slumbering ones.

That was when you tried to figure out what the trauma causing this was. Typically, Aziraphale would call him kind, nice, or good. Good seemed to get him the most upset. But there was something more. Then, you narrowed it down to two words: Hell and Fall.

“Crowley,” you said softly. He was sitting in his throne with his chin against his fist. His eyes were glazed over as he stared into space. He didn’t acknowledge you or show any sign that he even heard you. “Crowley.” This time you said his name a bit louder. Still, he was zoned out. Slowly, you placed a hand on his shoulder as to not startle him.

He jumped and scrambled away from your hand. It was as if it burnt his very soul. He stared up at you with the eyes of a frightened animal. It hurt your heart to see him so scared. It hurt even more when you realized he may not know that it was you standing there and not some demon his mind was portraying.

“Crowley, it’s me,” you soothed and slowly approached him. “I’m not going to hurt you, alright?”

His eyes started to retreat from a full-on yellow. The whites of his eyes started to appear. Crowley’s chest went from rapidly moving up and down to only inhaling and exhaling every few seconds or so. His shoulders relaxed and he hung his head.

“Sorry, [Y/N],” he croaked out.

You hushed him and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. “It’s alright,” you cooed. “I figured you were going through something. Do you want to talk about it?”

Crowley looked up at you and then to the side with shame. “I was remembering when I fell, is all.”

You nodded and moved a strand of growing hair out of his face. “It must be difficult having those memories.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said while his bottom lip trembled. “I…I didn’t want to fall. I didn’t think I would. I just…” A sob broke out of his mouth. His breathing quickened and he looked around the room in a panic. The yellow of his eyes was starting to take a hold of him once more. His hand started to claw at his skin as if something was burning him.

“Crowley,” you said sternly. “Crowley, look at me.” You took a hold of his face and forced him to look at you. “Crowley, look at me. Okay? You’re alright. It can’t hurt you right now. I want you to breathe in and out with me, like this.”

You breathed in through your nose and out with your mouth. You repeated slowly until Crowley’s hyperventilating started to slow to match yours, albeit his breath was shaking. His entire body was quivering.

“Now, I want you to find five things in this room. Five things, okay? Tell me what color they are,” you said while running a hand through his hair.

Crowley’s eyes darted around the room quickly. Back and forth they moved, searching for something that was a pool of sulfur. His eyes landed on your shirt and he named the color. Your pants. Your hair. Your eyes. Finally, his eyes landed on your lips.

You chuckled lightly and cupped his cheek. “Good job, Crowley. You did great.”

His eyes had grown heavy and his body was growing limp. Still, he kept his eyes on your lips. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Of course,” you hummed and brought your lips to his in a tired, yet loving embrace.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead on your shoulder. You rubbed a hand on his back in circles while his breathing still steadied out. After a few moments, you finally asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you.”

“Want to go lie down for a bit? We can cuddle.”

“Yes, please.”


End file.
